


In Which Mickey Might Eventually Be Okay

by SkewedReality



Series: Fic-A-Day in May Fics 2014 [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, ficadayinmay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:30:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkewedReality/pseuds/SkewedReality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And this wasn't supposed to be a fucking moment. He was going to bring Yev in for Ian to hold because it would make him feel better. Not because maybe seeing Ian hold the baby that was a living, breathing reminder of the pain and anger and overwhelming sadness that he had to go through to get to this moment might somehow open the door to this maybe being okay one day."</p><p>Day One for Fic-A-Day in May on tumblr. Rating: R (for mentions of canon sexual abuse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Mickey Might Eventually Be Okay

When Mickey was a kid, he always heard Terry say that you had to sweat out a fever. Starve a cold and all that shit. But this? What the fuck was this? There was no old adage for this.

No easy mnemonic to remember for when your boyfriend is lying in bed and refusing to eat, talk, or move for days at a time.

It took Mickey less than five minutes to realize he was in over his head, but it wasn't until the end of the first week was that he willing to accept it. Even then, he was still miles away from  _admitting it_. There was a huge gap between accepting that helping Ian was way out of his league and asking for help when asking could result in Ian being taken away from him.

Fuck that.

Mickey crushed out his cigarette, blowing the last of the smoke away, before heading back into the room he shared with Ian. As expected, the only movement from lump of blankets on Ian's side of the bed was the subtle rise and fall of the boy's shoulders.

He dropped down heavily onto his side of the bed and shifted close to Ian, resting a hand on the warmth of his shoulder. "Svetlana left the babymeat with us today." He rubbed idly over the skin peeking out from under the blankets. "I'm pretty sure that I don't have a fucking chance of keeping the thing alive without you."

Ian shifted just a little. "Don't call him that."

His voice was a parched rasp, but it was music to Mickey's ears. Thank God. Today was at least a good day.

"Sorry." Mickey apologized without a second thought. Though the weight of the apology was probably lessened by the apparent smile in the older boy's voice. "Still, though. You're the one who knows how to keep babies alive. I'm not exactly nurturing."

He heard Ian sigh and with what seemed like monumental effort, pull himself into a sitting position, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It wasn't the first time Ian had managed the energy to sit up and talk, but since the first time it happened on day four, Mickey could count the repeat performances on one hand.

"Where is he?" Ian asked, looking around the room like Mickey had left him on the fucking dresser or something. It wasn't that unreasonable an idea.

Mickey waved a dismissive hand. "He's fine. I left him in the bathtub."

His heart skipped a beat when Ian rolled his eyes and reached to the side to weakly smack at Mickey's shoulder. "You're an asshole."

"He's sleeping in his baby-holder thing."

"Bassinet?"

"Whatever, it holds fucking babies, doesn't it?"

The light that touched Ian's eyes was enough to lock Mickey in place, his own eyes fixed on Ian's face until he had to look down at his hands to try and control the adoring smile he knew he was wearing.

After a beat of silence, the words came out softly and before he even fully formed the thought, Mickey asked, "You wanna hold him?"

"He's sleeping, Mickey. Newborns need to sleep." Ian's voice was quiet but not even almost as sad or forced as it had been the past few days.  
Mickey was on his feet before Ian finished talking. "Yeah, well, he's a fucking baby. He can sleep anywhere."

Mickey pushed the baby--cradle and all--into their bedroom, swallowing thickly when he finally let himself really look at the child inside.

He was  _nothing_. Just a tiny bundle of blankets, but seeing him left a heavy, leaden feeling in the pit of Mickey's stomach, as well as a feeling he couldn't place.

It wasn't  _hate_. Hell, how could it be? How could anyone ever hate a baby? Especially when it was the only truly innocent party in the entire affair.

The best he could come up with was just a feeling of wrongness. It was shame and guilt and misplaced anger that he wanted to put solely on the baby that had been forced on him, but couldn't.

His  _son_  was his constant reminder that the world was a fucked up place. That sometimes, there's no outlet for the feelings you can't even begin to process but are thrown in your face every single day. That one day, a little boy will look at him with  _his_  eyes and ask how he was born and Mickey won't be able to tell him.

Mickey will have to protect him from the truth of how fucked everything really is, because whatever this baby is and whatever it will mean to him 5, 10, 20 years down the line, he's going to make damn sure his kid will never have to feel the way he feels when he looks into that bassinet.  
"He really does look like you, Mick," Ian said quietly, having come to stand behind him while he was lost inside his head.

He wasn't sure how the words made him feel, so he just nodded and settled into Ian's arms when they wrapped around his waist. "I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, Ian."

The words came out like a secret. Even though it was no secret that he was in  _so_  far over his fucking head. Mickey wiped roughly at his eyes because he wouldn't fucking cry over this, and let out a gust of breath through his nose.

"It still doesn't feel real, does it?" Ian asked, looking over Mickey's shoulder to watch the baby wriggling in his bassinet, tiny fist in his mouth and just beginning to stir awake. "Like none of this was supposed to happen this way."

Mickey choked down a sob that threatened to break out and nodded, not trusting his voice. It felt like sometimes Ian understood everything Mickey couldn't make himself say. That maybe Ian was the only other person in the world who could possibly understand the conflict raging in his mind when he looked down at his son, because he was the only one who  _really_ _knew_  how the entire thing happened.

He wondered but didn't ask what Ian saw when he looked into the bassinet. No doubt it was something much more beautiful and precious than what Mickey saw. It always seemed to be. Ian had a way of seeing goodness and worth in things that really don't deserve it.

"Mickey?"

The older boy managed a pained grunt of acknowledgment before admitting, "I want to love him, Ian. I look at him and want to feel that thing that fathers feel that makes them want to do whatever it takes to provide for their kid, but I just...don't. And it fucking kills me. Because none of this is his fault and he's being punished for it--"

"Being punished for something that he had no control over," Ian said, voice private and arms tight around Mickey's waist. "Sound familiar?"

And this wasn't supposed to be a fucking moment. He was going to bring Yev in for Ian to hold because it would make him feel better. Not because maybe seeing Ian hold the baby that was a living, breathing reminder of the pain and anger and overwhelming sadness that he had to go through to get to this moment might somehow open the door to this  _maybe_  being okay one day.

That maybe seeing the love in Ian's eyes when he looked down at the baby might somehow feel like permission to start to move on.

"Mick?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to hold him. Is that still okay?"

Mickey nodded tightly and leaned down to pick up his son. His hands were awkward and he felt that any wrong move would send the baby crashing to the floor, but Ian took him with sure hands, tucking the infant against his chest and adjusting his blanket as an afterthought.

He watched in awe as Ian soothed Yev back to sleep with a gentle thumb slid over his chubby cheek. The way he held him was so calm and sure and natural that the baby just immediately relaxed in Ian's arms, and Mickey could definitely relate to that feeling.

"You'll be okay, Mickey," Ian said, the words carrying all the weight of a promise, and then he smiled, first at the baby asleep in his arms and then at Mickey. "Hell, look how long it took you to realize you loved me."

  
And at that Mickey laughed--really laughed--and Ian leaned down to kiss him, soft and slow and just for a second, baby pressing against both of their chests before they broke apart. Before he could help it, Mickey's eyes fell to his son sleeping in Ian's arms, and Ian pressed a kiss against his forehead and repeated, "It's gonna be okay, Mickey."

And Mickey might just be starting to believe him.


End file.
